reunion
by hentai no miko
Summary: A first person Vash story full of shounen ai goodness set immediatly after the episode "Goodbye For Now." It's both tasty AND good, I promise ~_^ You'll like it, too!


This is a prequel to my first posted story, actually. It takes place right after Wolfie finds Vash again in the episode Good-bye For Now, and is totally in first person. There are spoilers for Vash's past, but not for Wolfwood. Actually, though all the actions are in character, I'm not sure the writing style would coincide with Vash's inner monologue, but since we don't really know for sure what that sounds like, I suppose he could very well sound like this... you never know... Anyway, fluffy shounen ai WxV love, so beware! hee hee hee  
  
  
Reunion  
  
I walked with him into the desert because I trusted him. Part of me didn't want, the bit of my heart that he'd broken by leaving the last time I'd trusted him, but I forgive so easily. One of my weaknesses, I suppose.  
  
He's one of them too, I have to admit.  
  
Wolfwood glances at me, his eyes guarded. He doesn't know how I feel yet; he's being cautious. A smile crosses my face, one of the affects the priest has on me. When I'm around him, my cheeriness is a little less force, me emotions a bit closer to genuine. For that alone, I'm eternally grateful for having met him.  
  
The little half smile he returns in silence is enough to quell the ongoing conflict of feelings inside me. Damn him. I always feel so helpless when he's around.  
  
"You hungry, Tongari?"  
  
"Yeah," I reply half-heartedly. My thoughts keep returning to the simple joys of my nice, calm former life.  
  
Nicholas glances around searchingly, but the road and the surrounding dunes are empty. His eternal caution saddens me a little, as it always does. Another reminder of his hidden past.  
  
"Where were you raised, Wolfwood?" I ask casually as I search through my pack.  
  
He chuckles, "I thought my accent gave it away. I'm originally from December."  
  
It had, but I needed a segue, "Is that where you went?"  
  
The look he gives me lets me know he's on to my little ploy, but he plays along anyway, "Yeah. I went back to my orphanage, just like I told you."  
  
"I see."  
  
Wolfwood pulls two smashed sandwiches from his duffle bag and hands one to me as he sits. That all-knowing, crooked grin seems a permanent part of his expression. We sit by the side of the road, finishing off our sparse mean with some beers.  
  
I stopped drinking two years ago, so the alcohol goes straight to my head. The nice buzz is pleasant, but, much to Wolfwood's shock, I shake my head when he offers me something stronger.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asks jokingly.  
  
I smile broadly, "I stopped drinking, after..."  
  
"Oh..." We both trail off, unwilling to go through the details again.  
  
He knows the expression on my face is false, strained, but I ignore the compassion on his face. I don't deserve it, not after what I've done. Not after another July...  
  
That city, that incident, changed me. I lost so much of my innocence, my naiveté. More then that, I had to learn to suffer all over again. It was as though all the healing that had taken place in my heart after my friends in the floating city adopted me had never happened.  
  
After Knives and I separated, I was desolate, lost. I felt like I had lost half of myself. I nearly drowned in my sorrow, in my own self-pity. I hated myself for shooting him, and, and the same time, a tiny part of me regretted letting him leave. The guilt I felt threatened to overwhelm me. Right now, I don't know how I feel about him anymore. I've had a two-year vacation from my search to try to come to grips with my emotions, but I'm really no more certain now then I was a century ago.  
  
Knives... Do I still love him? Can I still allow myself to? I know I should hate him, and yet... He's hurt me so much. Sometimes I wonder how I can delude myself into thinking that some part of the boy I grew up with is still there. Heh. I'm sure I'll find someway to forgive him in the end. I don't think I'm built for revenge.  
  
"Vash..." Wolfwood trails off.  
  
I suddenly realize I've stayed silent for a long time.  
  
"That smile hurts to watch."  
  
I hadn't realized I'd maintained it.  
  
"I'm sorry," I let it slide off my face, grateful that he can see through my masks so easily.  
  
His eyes are uncertain, searching, like he's trying to figure out whether he's still allowed to comfort me. He is, of course, but some perversion inside me decides to punish him just a little. Nicholas more then deserves it after all he put me through.  
  
"We should keep moving," I say simply.  
  
He looks out into the distance before responding, "You're right. He's waiting."  
  
I wonder how much he knows. I've told him very little, only that I'm searching for someone, yet sometimes he seems to know even more then I do. It's disconcerting, and, as we continue walking, the old sneaking suspicion comes back.  
  
What if I can't trust him? I know so little about him, but I've always reasoned that it's only fair, given how little he knows about me. I suppose he could be purposely misleading me for reasons of his own, but I doubt he could fake the depth of the emotions he obviously feels for me. I chuckle to myself, ignoring Wolfwood's sideways glance, deciding that he's never exactly done a very convincing job of playing the part of my lover.  
  
Wolfwood, my terrorist priest, my walking contradiction, in fact seems to do everything in his power to confound me. He treats me like shit most of the time, and I suppose I do the same. Our relationships never been an easy one. We're both accustomed to being alone, and though I've never really felt happy about it, it's become a way of life. We're not used to having someone else around to challenge.  
  
He's my enigma, and I hate that he can be, at times, devoted, loving, even tender, desperately in need of something it seems only I can provide, and, alternately, fickle, cruel, bitter, resentful, overcome by cynicism. Above all, he treats me like a regular person, not a saint or a killer, who holds a special place in his heart. There's nothing more human then that.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
